


All I want for Christmas is you

by whoistorule



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:44:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoistorule/pseuds/whoistorule
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robb & Alys run into each other at the Stark Group Christmas Party</p><p>AU from the <a href="http://bloodandglory-rp.tumblr.com">Blood and Glory RP</a> canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I want for Christmas is you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dalyeau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dalyeau/gifts).



Alys Karstark is well and fully sloshed.  Truly, she’d probably be wasted anyway, even if it weren’t for the liberal pours of Dacey’s Danger Juice, but those certainly didn’t help.  Her heels clack and echo against the cold stone floors as she explores the vast expanse of the Stark family home.

Winterfell’s more like a castle with all the stone walls and wide wings, round towers and big windows.  When she turns; the terrain changes, and every step Alys takes down the carpeted corridor has her stilettos sinking into the shag, twisting her unsteady ankles until, frustrated, she stumbles against the wall, pulling her heels off and swinging them off her fingertips.  A gasp tugs from her red lips as the wall moves, caving inwards, revealing its true nature (a door, of course it's a door, the convenient brass handle was a doorknob, not a random boon from some drunken architect god).

Inside, firm hands pressed against the grey countertop, red hair crowned by a halo of silvery light, is Robb Stark.  Alys's stomach drops.  Of course when she drunkenly stumbles into bathroom, heels clutched in lacquered red fingernails, it's Robb Stark she interrupts, looking far too handsome to be human.

"Oh my, I'm so sorry!  I didn't mean to interrupt you," Alys says, her eyes eating in the sight of him, pressed tux well worn from the evening's festivities, wolf cuff links winking from his wrists.  "I'll just go," her lips move with true intent, but her bare feet stay firmly planted on the cold tiles.  She couldn't move even if she wanted to, not when the object of her affection is standing less than a meter away looking so ridiculously handsome she could scream.

"No, no, it's all right," Robb says with an easy smile. (All his smiles seemed easy to Alys; easy and kind and somehow far away.) "I was just looking for a place to be alone for a minute.  Sometimes at these sorts of affairs, it just seems like everyone wants something from me, you know?"

"Well, that's even more reason for me to leave," Alys's fingers close around the doorknob behind her, but her feet stay still.

"No, it's all right.  I don't mind being alone with you."

Her heart flips and her stomach drops and without thinking, Alys nudges the door closed, the knob catching with a click.  "Now we're more alone."  She smiles, her shoes clattering against the tile as her toes nudge forward.  "Your bow tie's crooked."

Robb's hands lift off the countertop, his eyes catching the mirror, and for a moment, Alys is still, taking in the two Robbs before her, the one in the mirror and the one in the flesh.  When his hands reach for his tie, the spell is broken and Alys dances forward, moving his fingers aside to tweak the knot herself.  "There," she whispers, her chin tilting up to meet Robb's eyes.  In the watery bathroom light, they were almost too blue.

Before she knows what's happening or what to do, Robb's lips are pressing against hers, and her fingers slip from his tie to the scratch of his stubble.  It's sweet, and all too short.

"I'm sorry," Robb's lips are moving but all Alys can think is how just moments ago they were on her own.  "I must be drunker than I thought."

"It's okay," Alys knows she's smiling, grinning more like, her heart pounding heavy in her chest, and yet she feels light enough to float away.  "That's not the first time we've done that.  Though I must say you've improved tremendously."

Now it's Robb's turn to grin, his eyes clouding with the shared memory of two scrawny teenagers in the Eton cold with ash on their fingertips and snowflakes melting in their hair.

"Well," he laughs, "I had a good teacher."

Alys's fingers find his bow tie again, but this time they tug it loose, the black ribbon falling open around his neck.  "Oops."

Twisting the silk tendrils between her fingers, Alys pulls Robb towards her, her back hitting the door with a thud.  For a moment, they're quiet, their twin breathes falling into a rhythm, their lips scant centimeters apart.

"You know," Robb whispers, and the room fills with his voice, "I could have bragged about you for weeks, the girl with the long legs and knowing smile who taught ne to kiss, not that it would have meant anything compared to Jon and Theon's lists, but I didn't want to.  I wanted that memory all to myself."

It's entirely the right thing to say, and the wrong thing all at once.  It's sweet, and far too intimate, and just like him.  By the way Alys's heart is carrying out an Irish step dance routine, she really ought to open the door and rejoin the party, because this is dangerous territory.  Instead her lips take her well across the rubicon, crashing against Robb's as her fingers slide from his necktie to tangle in his curls.

If the last kiss was sweet, this one is anything but.  Robb's mouth opens against hers as his hands find the curves of her hips, sliding against acid green silk, begging to find purchase there.

With one hand anchored at the base of Robb's neck, the other pulls at his buttons, the tiny pearls slipping through tight loops, each one far too delicate handiwork for Alys's drunken fingertips, yet somehow she perseveres until his neck is bared. Want coils low in Alys's belly as she paints red marks on Robb Stark's pale throat.

"Alys," Robb groans as her fingers brush over his bare chest lower and lower until they're tugging his belt loose.  It clatters to the floor, joining her long abandoned shoes.  Robb's stubble brushes against the swell of Alys's breasts, his fervent kisses staining her silk with puckering wet marks.

When she releases her hold on his hair to nudge the waistband of his boxers down, the zip of his trousers buzzing between their gasps, he moans as her pale fingers close around his cock.  "Alys," his mouth meets her smiling one as she draws him out, "wait."

Wait was bad, or it would be but for what Robb does next.  The grin on his swelling lips is practically primal as he sinks to his knees.  With practiced hands, he rucks up the cascading green silk of Alys's dress, tucking it into her open palm.

The first scrape of Robb's teeth against red lace makes Alys's knees go weak.  In all her fantasies of this moment, it never occurred to her that Robb Stark would be removing her underwear with his teeth, and yet he is; the fabric inching lower and lower until it drops below her knees.  One hand full of gathered fabric, the other steadies against Robb’s matted hair as his tongue curls against her clit.

“Oh god,” she whispers, her own teeth biting into her lip.  Robb slips one finger into her cunt and then another, all the while his mouth paying homage to her clit, and Alys feels the air suck out of her lungs.  Her whole body is humming from the whiskey and the wine and the delicious feeling of Robb Stark tonguing her cunt.  So much though that it takes her a moment to realize the nudging against her side is someone twisting the doorknob, and not just her own body responding to Robb’s lips on her clit.

Her fingers seize in Robb’s hair and Alys freezes.  “Someone’s in here,” she says, a nervous giggle bursting through her breathless lips, “Find another room.”

“Alys?” a noticeably Glasglowian voice on the other side of the door asks, and for a moment Alys’s heart stops, thinking it might be her brother, but the gears click into place.  Daryn Hornwood, that’s Daryn Hornwood’s voice.

“Um,” Alys glances down at Robb, her teeth catching on her lip again, “no!”

The jiggling stops, and Robb looks up at her, his chest shaking in silent laughter, his lips wet from her cunt.  “Should I stop?” he mouths, and Alys nearly sinks herself, her knees wobbling dangerously against the door.  Instead she grabs the tails of his bowtie that hang still around his open shirt and drags him up, tasting herself on his lips as she kisses him.

“Fuck me,” she gasps into Robb’s open mouth, “please.”

Robb’s arms lift Alys upwards, her back still supported by the door as Alys wraps her legs around his waist.  “Is it, are you, is it safe?” he whispers, his teeth nipping at her ear.

The nod of Alys’s head cracks it against the wood, and a smile splits her lips as she twines her arms round Robb’s neck, anchoring herself between him and the door.  The silk of her skirt ripples against them as Robb guides his cock towards her cunt, his hips bucking into hers, knocking her against the wood.

“Harder,” Alys groans, and Robb’s only too happy to comply, his teeth tugging at her lips as he thrust into her.  Her stomach flips as she melts against him, her body aching and vibrating with delayed satisfaction.  When she comes, her cunt clenches around him, and it’s only a few thrusts more before Robb’s coming too, his climax building as her own wanes.

Alys’s neck is slick with sweat as she disentangles herself from Robb, reclaiming her limbs and sinking to the floor in a puddle of green silk and flushed skin.  “Well,” she says once she’s caught her breath, “I certainly didn’t teach you that.”

Robb’s laugh breaks the tension that Alys didn’t even know was there.  He bends, picking up his belt with one hand, and leans forward to kiss her gently with swollen lips.  “Alys Karstark you are a remarkable woman.”

That makes her laugh, great gales that make her belly ache and her cheeks twitch.  “I suppose I should say thank you,” she says, pulling on red lace under her dress, her feet slipping easily into her abandoned heels.  The sex has sobered her, and yet she’s giddy and lightheaded as she’s ever been, practically floating as she accepts Robb’s hand pulling her back to her feet.  His fingers redo his buttons as Alys, sister of three brothers that she is, reties Robb’s bowtie.

A glance in the mirror shows their both glowing with a post-sex sheen, and that too makes Alys smile.

Offering Alys his arm, Robb slips back into his own easy smile.  “How would you like to join me for a drink?”

She takes it gladly with a smile of her own.  “Well, Robb, I can safely say, I think this is the best Christmas Party your family has ever thrown.”

 


End file.
